


first things first

by Liu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Babysitting, Demisexuality, First Kiss, M/M, Mick is a dad, Pining, accidentally, and Axel is a babysitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s your name?” Mick shrugs. He's due for a heist soon with Len and Lisa, and if he doesn’t have a babysitter by then, he’s fucked. “Do you even know how to take care of children?”</p><p>“It’s Axel. And relax, Jesus, I know how to Google shit, okay?” </p><p>(Or the one in which Mick accidentally gets a baby... and then accidentally gets a live-in nanny.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	first things first

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wanted this to be a drabble to go with a gifset. But since my failure to write short fics has turned chronic... I hope somebody will enjoy 10k of Mick and Axel failing at parenting :'D
> 
> I also made [some graphics](http://pheuthe.tumblr.com/post/132366889562/first-things-first-mickster-babysitterau-word) to go with the fic :)

When the doorbell rings, Mick’s just getting out of the shower. It takes him a moment to wrap a towel around his hips and walk downstairs: but once he yanks the door open, there’s no one.

Well. There’s a basket, and a note – and a baby. Mick sighs.

He doesn’t even have to read the note to know who brought it; but he does, anyway, once the baby is tucked against his shoulder, making quiet huffy noises. The note says the baby’s name is Daniel, he’s nine weeks old, and the mother is very sorry but she knows Mick is a good guy.

Mick’s not quite sure how _that_ happened – he’s a questionably neutral guy most of the time, at best. But it seems that helping out a woman with groceries a couple times is good enough to win the role of a foster father.

There’s not much else in the basket: a blanket, two diapers and a scuffed, yellowed baby bottle. Mick sighs, shifts Daniel in his arms and goes to find his phone to text Len.

……….

“What’s the emergency?” Len calls from the door – his eyes go comically wide when Mick walks out of the living room with a baby in his arms.

“What did you do?” the Fearless Leader frowns, and Mick can see he’s about two seconds from bolting. Len’s never been too great with tiny babies: he will tackle cutting-edge security systems and take on a whole damn mob family, but Mick sometimes thinks that Len would never lead a life of crime if diamonds were stored in nurseries. “Or should I ask _who_ did you do?”

Mick grunts – some of the shit Len says doesn’t really need a response – and thrusts a large sheet of paper forward.

“I need you to go buy this.”

Len cautiously scans the writing and raises an eyebrow at Mick.

“I’m not gonna buy diapers and baby formula and – what’s this?” he stabs his finger into the paper and Mick leans over.

“Swaddling blanket.”

“I can _read_ it. But what the hell _is_ it?!” Len snarls and Mick frowns at him. He’s honestly not too sure, but the webpage said that it was a must-have.

“Do you want to stay here with Daniel instead while I go buy everything?”

“Who’s Daniel?” Len sounds as if Mick just brought a new guy to a heist without prior discussion.

“My fern,” he rolls his eyes. “ _The baby_ , Len, for fuck’s sake.”

“You _named_ it?!”

At any other time, Len’s carefully concealed hysteria would be amusing, but right now, Mick’s still internally freaking out about the fact that he just got a baby, an actual, living, real baby, and he has to figure out how to take care of it. For the next two decades, at least.

“ _It_ is a human,” Mick grumbles. “And he came with a name.”

Len shoots the baby an accusing look. “Did he come with a mother?”

“No, a stork brought him. Are you gonna help me or not?”

Len stalks away with a scowl, but he folds the shopping list into his pocket and grabs the keys to Mick’s truck on the way out.

……….

Mick has to spend the next day shopping, with Daniel tucked into the stroller Len bought the day before. The stroller which is a little too big and blue-and-white, because of fucking course. Len might be wonderfully organized when it comes to stealing valuables, but it seems that actually _paying_ for shit makes his brain turn to mush: half the stuff he brought is useless or weird. Mick internally screams about how stupid someone has to be to get baby sizes wrong, but then he’s standing in front of a mountain of baby clothes and he forgives Len, just a little. This shit is overwhelming, and there are bustling mothers everywhere.

“Can I help you?” one of the mothers says: there’s a screaming five-year-old trailing behind her, randomly pushing stuff off the shelves. Mick takes a mental oath that he won’t let Daniel grow up into a little monster, and wonders if all parents go selectively deaf after a while (or after the second kid, maybe), because the sounds that little girl is making cause Mick’s _eyeballs_ to hurt. And the woman’s just smiling. A little manically, to be honest.

“Nah, I’m good,” he shrugs and moves away because Daniel doesn’t like the noise either, if his unhappy whimpers are any indication.

He barely manages to decide on the logistics of a stroller and a shopping cart when another mother ambushes him: this one is wearing her baby, and after the initial surprise, it does seem like a handy invention to solve the shopping cart dilemma, so Mick makes it a point to ask her about the straps holding up her baby before he shoos her away.

She helps him pick out the baby sling and some organic bibs (that leaves Mick wondering as to why a bib should be organic when the baby’s not gonna _eat_ those, but he wonders in silence). By the time they’re moving to the baby formulas, she’s got an iron grip on his forearm and flicks her hair over her shoulder a lot. Mick’s more than a little uncomfortable.

He’s never been a smooth talker: he’s not Len, who can bullshit his way out of anything. So before he can think of a better way to explain how very much not interested he is in hook-ups from the baby food aisle, he’s blurting out something close to ‘I gave my ex-wife syphilis.’ He’s not completely sure because the shock in that poor woman’s face as she moves away kind of wipes his brain clean.

After that, it’s just a matter of looking suitably gruff and angry at the whole world – a skill Mick mastered a long time ago. Finding a store assistant for help with all the baby stuff isn’t so hard, even if the poor guy looks equally lost in the sea of baby supplies. In the end, Mick’s leaving with his shopping cart loaded with everything he needs… for a few days.

Turns out babies go through diapers impossibly quickly. Especially babies whose stomachs aren’t all that happy with formula.

…………….

“Why would you even wanna keep it?” Lisa rolls her eyes and leans against the doorway. Mick wonders what the hell it is with Snarts and babies that they refuse to even enter the room when an infant is present.

“What was I supposed to do?” Mick grumbles and looks around for signs of baby puke anywhere else than the ten square feet of wall he just cleaned. Daniel does _not_ take well to the formula – but unfortunately for both of them, there aren’t any other options available, no matter how many lactation jokes Lisa throws Mick’s way.

“Uh, give it up? There are lots of people who would adopt it.”

Mick’s getting a little irritated about how Len and Lisa keep calling his new son ‘it.’

“Name’s Daniel,” he grunts in warning, “and if other people can adopt, so can I.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna track down the mother so she signs the kid over to you? What if she comes back? What if the kid gets sick – you have no legal claim over that kid. Basically anyone could take it- Daniel from you.”

Mick doesn’t stop frowning, even when she corrects herself to use the baby’s name. She’s right – but she’s also wrong because those rules only apply to people _not_ willing to torch down any social worker who comes for Daniel.

“They can try,” he snarls in determination and throws the puke-soaked rag into the bucket.

……………………………….

It’s never been this difficult to keep his eyes open. Daniel has a habit of waking up every couple of hours, and Mick hasn’t slept more than two or three hours per night for what feels like _years_. He doesn’t even bother turning on the lights when he hears Daniel start to whine. In the past weeks, he got so attuned to the baby’s needs that even the slightest sound will wake him now: which can be useful, but also annoying as hell.

Good thing he can take his frustrations out on everything flammable when they’re on a heist… even though Len has been complaining about that lately, telling Mick to get a fucking full-time babysitter if this is gonna work. Which isn’t easy… Mick needs someone who is both reliable in terms of childcare, and questionable in terms of morals in order to be able to work for a criminal like Mick. So the usual nanny agencies or the neighborhood teenagers? Not much of an option for Mick, who sometimes has stolen diamonds, guns, kerosene, or priceless art lying around the house.

As Len pointed out once (Len who has been warming up to Daniel despite actively fighting it): it’s gonna be fun once Daniel started walking.

By the time the bottle of formula is ready, the unhappy baby whines have transformed into an outright wail, and Mick sighs as he walks up the stairs towards the source of the ear-splitting noise.

But before he can reach Daniel’s room, the screeching… stops?

Mick’s heart leaps into his chest and he barrels through the door – to find a guy standing by the crib, Daniel in his arms. Daniel, who is cooing and giggling wetly at a complete stranger, a stranger in black with a ski mask pushed up over his forehead. The guy’s just a fucking kid, maybe twenty or even younger. Judging by the tools tucked into his belt and the open window, this isn’t a social call. A growl escapes Mick’s throat before he can stop it. The guy startles, takes a tentative step back.

“Set the baby down.”

“What- I swear, man, I wasn’t gonna hurt your kid, I-“

“Set. The baby. Down.” Mick punctuates every word with a step closer, and once again he’s thankful to his genetics for a face that prominently features in several people’s nightmares. The guy obeys almost instantly and lowers Daniel to the crib. The little one doesn’t like it, reaching towards the guy’s face and whimpering, but in that second, Mick’s anger wins over his protective instincts.

He has the robber by the neck and slammed into the wall in less than two seconds. The guy tries to remove Mick’s hand from his trachea, but he’s useless against the silent force of Mick’s bull-like rage.

Mick leans deep into the guy’s personal space and hisses into his face: he wants to roar, but Daniel already sounds upset, so pissed-off hissing it is.

“Who the fuck are you and what the _fuck_ were you doing with the baby?!”

The guy hisses back, though Mick realizes that might be because he’s not actually getting much air into his lungs. He eases up on his hand and the guy draws in a shaky breath. His own hands are wrapped around Mick’s wrist, now probably more for support than any hope of moving Mick’s arm in any direction.

“I’ll ask again. What were you doing with the baby?” Mick grunts, and then a thought grips his stomach unpleasantly. “Are you the father?”

The kid’s young, but god knows that it wouldn’t be the first time an underage boy knocked up a prostitute – and maybe he’s feeling guilty for bailing on Daniel’s mom.

The guy – the _kid_ – blinks up at Mick and coughs a little.

“What? Aren’t _you_ the fath- oh. No. No no no. Fuck. Shit. Holy fucking hell. Did you kidnap the baby?! I thought you were just a thief! Oh my god. Is that how you earn money?!”

Mick gapes, and the surprise makes him let go of the kid’s throat completely as he scowls down:

“The fuck do you mean, you thought I was _just_ a thief,” he snorts – Len would tear this kid a new one if he were here, listening to this punk describe them as _just thieves_.

“I didn’t know,” the kid wheezes a little, rubbing at his throat, “I didn’t know about the kidnappings. I swear. I’ll just-“

“Not so fast,” Mick grabs the kid’s collar before he can slip towards the window – and probably break his arm trying to jump out. He can see now, in the faint light of the streetlamps filtering through the open window, that the kid is far from a professional. Ratty sneakers, old jeans and a hoodie that’s black but the color is the only nice thing about it, what with Eau de Dumpster lingering around the kid like a cloud. Mick overestimated the kid by thinking it was a ski mask over his head, and not just a hood: he looks like someone who saw one episode of some CSI show and decided he could live the life of a criminal. Mick snarls at him a little, wonders if he’ll scare the kid back to the straight and narrow if he’s menacing enough. “There’s been no kidnapping. The kid’s mine, just… long story. Why did you pick this house?”

The kid winces – Mick knows that look. It’s the ‘I fucked up’ look, and Mick felt it on his face often enough that he can read it even concealed by the midnight shadows.

“I thought you were loaded. You kept giving money to V, to the other girls who needed it – I thought I could get in, grab something expensive and get out before you even noticed.”

That just confirms Mick’s suspicion that this kid is acting alone, and probably has zero idea who Mick is: no self-respecting criminal affiliated with any of the big players in Central would dare go anywhere near Len’s crew. Not without any mob backing, at least – and the Darbinyans have been strangely accommodating these past few months.

“So you need money.”

That earns Mick a slow, calculating nod in response.

“You got a place to stay?”

A head-shake this time.

“Family? Friends?”

The messy head continues to shake, and then abruptly stops, the guy’s eyes comically widening: “Oh shit. I mean. Yeah, I’ve got friends. They know I’m here, if I’m not back in an hour, they’ll totally call the cops!”

Mick rolls his eyes. “Right.”

Daniel’s noises are toeing the line between loud whimpering and outright crying, and Mick can see the kid’s eyes flick towards the crib, his torso making an aborted motion towards the baby as if he subconsciously wants to get to Daniel and his mind is telling him to stop.

“You know,” the kid mutters. “I’ve been watching you for a couple days. Looks like you could use some help. Of the nanny kind.”

Mick sizes the guy up. Young, probably homeless… but his skin and teeth suggest that he hasn’t been out of a decent home, a decent meal, for too long. Desperate, though – maybe desperate enough to be of use. And Daniel seemed to react to him well enough…

The mental image of five, maybe even _six_ hours of uninterrupted deep sleep almost makes Mick’s eyes water.

“What’s your name?” Mick shrugs. He's due for a heist soon with Len and Lisa, and if he doesn’t have a babysitter by then, he’s fucked. “Do you even know how to take care of children?”

“It’s Axel. And relax, Jesus, I know how to Google shit, okay?” the kid – Axel – rolls his eyes and steps around Mick to get to the crib. Mick grabs his hood and yanks him back unceremoniously, smirking at the slightly strangled sound Axel makes.

“So if my child starts to choke, you’re gonna Google,” he confirms dryly.

“Of course not,” Axel scoffs, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna… um…”

Mick lets go of the kid’s hood, crosses his arms over his chest and waits. Tiny beads of sweat form on Axel’s forehead, shiny in the pale light from the window.

“…are there options?”

“Yes. A, you figure out the right answer, B, your ass ends up in jail.”

“As if you’d call the cops to _your_ house,” Axel sneers, but then his eyes turn round and big and his whole face is a fucking illustration for pleading. “Look, I promise I’ll read all the books about babies you can get, but at least let me try? Please?”

Mick knows the tone. It’s the tone that can carry many words, but ultimately only says ‘I haven’t eaten for far too long and there are only so many nights on a park bench I can take, and I’ll do any-fucking-thing for a shower and a toothbrush.’ He knows what his decision is gonna be when he looks at that kid’s face and sees himself, twenty years ago.

The strangest thing is, Mick doesn’t even feel like he’s gonna regret it.

“Fine. But we’re burning your clothes.”

………………………

“Who’s that?” Len frowns the next morning when he steps into the living room and his eyes land on Axel, sprawled on the sofa and reading _Parenting for Dummies._

“My new babysitter,” Mick claims and finishes strapping on his thigh holsters. Len raises an eyebrow at him.

“Why is his neck purple? And why is he wearing your clothes?”

“Caught him sneaking in through Daniel’s window yesterday,” Mick shrugs. They did not have the time to go shopping for clothes that would not hang off Axel’s lean frame, but the kid didn’t really complain when he ended up in Mick’s comfy, washed-out sweatpants and his soft old T-shirt.

Len’s eyes darken at the information and Mick mentally chuckles. Len might claim he’s weirded out by the baby’s presence and still refuses to hold him, but Mick can see that Len has already accepted Daniel as a part of their little dysfunctional family and would protect the kid with fierce determination.

“Hm. Are you sure you don’t want him to just… disappear?” Len asks meaningfully and shoots a look towards the sofa. Axel’s knuckles are white around the book, and his eyes are staring with utmost focus at one fixed spot. Mick smirks to himself.

“Depends on how well he’ll do with Daniel. Let’s go.”

They grin at each other when they’re out of the door – Mick can only imagine the sigh of relief Axel must be heaving right now. Putting fear of the Rogues into an ex-robber-turned-babysitter can never hurt, though, just as a preventive measure.

…………………..

Axel never thought he would get this lucky. His life has been pretty shitty up to the point when he decided that it was a good idea to rob the house of Central’s infamous Rogues. Of course, he didn’t know the guy always giving money to prostitutes (without sleeping with them, too!) was a Rogue. Axel only knew that he was hungry and the nights were colder, and he needed to get his hands on money.  

Then all of a sudden… he has a job and a nice house to stay. He even feels a little bit bad. He _could_ have pointed out that his paycheck should reflect that he’s living in Mick’s house rent-free, eating Mick’s food and wearing his clothes – because even the shirts and jeans and sweats Mick bought him were technically paid for with the older man’s money.

And after all of that, Axel is still getting a paycheck. He didn’t even have to ask: after Mick came back from that first ‘job’ with Leonard Snart, he took one look at Daniel, changed, fed and asleep in Axel’s arms, and simply nodded. The next day, he Googled ‘nanny salary’ while Axel was making scrambled eggs… and when Axel set their plates on the table and sat down, Mick calmly asked if six hundred bucks a week would be enough.

Axel almost choked on his breakfast then.

It feels like he’s dreaming. It’s his fifth day at Mick’s house and he’s almost ready to stop expecting Mick to kick him out, but a tiny voice inside still tells him to be wary, even though he doesn’t know what he should be wary _of_. Maybe it’s Mick himself: Axel’s heard stories about the Rogues, about the crazy pyromaniac who follows Snart but refuses to be controlled by anyone. Axel has trouble reconciling that frightful image with the Mick he knows, though. Mick has one of those faces that look scary at a first glance, hard and cruel and perpetually angry, but when one studies his features carefully, there’s no trace of true brutality anywhere. Mick’s hard, unyielding, and not good with people as such, but he’s not unkind. After all, he’s the guy who took in a whore’s kid just because, no questions asked: when Mick first explained how he got Daniel, Axel thought that the older man must be stupid.

But he’s seen Mick too many times with Daniel, the tiniest hint of a smile softening Mick’s face and transforming it into something indescribably warm, something that always makes Axel’s stomach twitch with growing fondness. No, Mick’s not stupid – he’s just unexpectedly, unobtrusively _good_.

“I’m going jogging!” Mick calls quietly: Axel has learned in the past few days that this tone usually means Mick has Daniel in his arms and thus doesn’t yell as loudly. It’s fine, the house isn’t so big that they would need to shout full-force at each other unless one is in the attic and the other in the basement, but the thought that he’s learning to recognize patterns of Mick’s life makes Axel smile at the strawberries he’s cutting.

“You’re not gonna give those to Daniel, are you,” Mick grumbles a bit from the kitchen doorway and Axel rolls his eyes as he cuts the last one.

“I’ve read all the books you got for me, don’t worry. The strawberries-“

He turns and whatever he wanted to say next is completely forgotten at the sight of Mick. This is the first time Axel sees the man’s arms, peeking out of a blue sleeveless running shirt. He’s covered in tattoos, swirl upon swirl of ink over his biceps, his forearms, words and symbols and pictures, old and new, precise and amateurish, everything mixing into a map that Axel wishes to explore further. Possibly lick. And in those arms, wrapped securely and grinning wide, is Daniel, tiny against the bulging muscle in Mick’s forearms. Axel’s viscerally physical reaction to Mick’s arms turns softer, almost G-rated.

“The strawberries…?” Mick repeats, with that quiet amusement that makes his eyes crinkle around the corners. Axel closes his mouth and his brain takes a few seconds to come back online before he remembers that his fingers are sticky with strawberry juice.

“Oh. Right. Pancakes when you’re done?” he asks, and wonders if Mick didn’t _notice_ him blatantly staring or if he’s willingly choosing to be oblivious about it.

Either way, Axel’s glad when Mick turns away from the kitchen to get Daniel back to his crib: “Alright. Be back in an hour, tops.”

Fifty-two minutes later, Axel’s flipping the last pancake and Mick comes in, sweaty and breathing hard and grinning, looking more relaxed than Axel’s used to seeing him. He moves languidly, like the running loosened up all the knots he’s usually tied up in, and he reaches over Axel’s shoulder to steal a slice of strawberry. It’s really Axel’s achievement of the day when he gathers enough willpower _not_ to push up onto his toes and kiss the strawberry juice off Mick’s lips.

………………………..

So it turns out babies are _really_ high maintenance. Usually, Axel doesn’t mind – Mick’s home most of the time anyway. That means there are two of them and Axel very rarely has to choose between ‘Daniel’s screeching like he’s dying, but the soup is also gonna boil over in about ten seconds.’ They’ve become a really good team with Mick, too: Axel only realizes it one morning when he notices they’ve been dancing around each other in the kitchen for twenty minutes, ducking around one another’s arms effortlessly, slipping past the other to the fridge or to the sink without even having to look, wordlessly handing one another dirty things that need to be washed and clean things that need to be put away. They work like a well-oiled machine and Axel can’t fight off the huge grin that splits his face when he glances at Mick and it feels like _home_.

It’s not like Axel never had a home before: he used to have a mom and an aunt and a few cousins, and it wasn’t all bad (until it was). But he’s never had a home that _chose_ him, a home that wasn’t forced to endure his existence simply due to a twisted coincidence of genetics and fate. Mick has _picked_ him: maybe it was a bit of a chance at first, too, what with Axel basically falling into Mick’s house through misunderstanding and accident. But Mick chose to let Axel stay, for days that turned to weeks, and it matters to Axel more than he would ever admit.

Axel keeps waiting for Mick to ask him to stay with Daniel alone at night because Mick’s going on a date. The man’s a little scary, sure, but he’s also hot and built and Axel has a hard time believing that no one would see that and _want_ it for themselves. It doesn’t happen the first few weeks – it doesn’t happen in the coming months. And Axel slowly, unwillingly starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be enough for Mick as more than just a babysitter.

The thought of losing this job, this house, these _people_ if he makes the wrong move stops Axel from making any moves at all.  He can’t prevent himself from looking, though, deciphering the complicated web of overlapping tattoos on Mick’s arms, staring at that broad back when it’s turned towards Axel as the man chops peppers or washes the dishes. Sometimes, Axel looks too much and then he has to retreat to the bathroom for relief; most of the time, though, Daniel’s such a handful that Axel’s too wiped out to even think about sex. Doesn’t stop him from hoping, though – that one day, Daniel will be able to sleep through the night and they won’t be running on three hours of sleep, and maybe then, something could happen.

It’s funny, actually: Mick first agreed to hire Axel because he thought that he would be able to get some rest if he had a live-in nanny. Turns out all it does is make them _both_ tired. Axel tries to take the brunt of the nightly visits to Daniel’s room, because Mick does need more rest: he never really knows when Snart will call him about a heist, or when he will have to drive fifteen hours straight to get their stolen shit to a reliable fence. But Mick still tries to be there for Daniel, and to let Axel sleep at least some of the time, and so they’re both zombies, running on coffee and a sense of responsibility.

Halloween comes and goes. They both agree that Daniel’s too small to even know what’s going on, so they don’t force the kid into a costume. Axel hands out some candy to the neighbors’ children who come trick-or-treating, but they don’t make a huge fuss of the holiday in the house. They sprawl on the sofa and watch silly cartoons, Daniel nestled into Mick’s chest and giggling at the most unexpected moments. Axel can’t help but wish that he was brave enough to tuck himself into Mick’s side and just soak up the warmth the other man’s radiating all the time.

Thanksgiving’s a bit of a disaster. Daniel’s been fussy and annoyed all day and neither Mick nor Axel actually know how to cook a holiday dinner. Which would be okay if Snarts didn’t invite themselves over for the evening, claiming they never get to spend time with Daniel.

That is such a ridiculous lie Axel is surprised their pants haven’t caught on fire. It’s not that he doubts they love Daniel: it’s just that whenever they stop by to pick Mick up and the baby gets anywhere close to one of them, the Snarts both look like they’re searching for the nearest emergency exit. Axel would bet that the Thanksgiving dinner is just their way of getting free food – and maybe of reaffirming some unspoken familial bonds between them and Mick.

The turkey ends up burnt on the outside and raw in the middle, the mashed potatoes taste a bit like buttered sand and Mick and Axel have apparently both added sugar to the cranberries because nobody can make anything that sweet on purpose. The beans are a bust and the stuffing’s not even worth mentioning; the greatest success of the day is probably the pie, and that’s just because it makes _Mick_ happy when it bursts into flames, together with the oven.

Len and Lisa don’t even comment on the acrid stench of smoke lingering in the house when they arrive – with take-out bags, which is truly something to be thankful for.

Mick says ‘I’m thankful that someone tried to rob my house’ and smirks over the table at Axel. In that moment, Axel’s stomach twists and he’s grinning back before he knows it, ignoring Len and Lisa who keep rolling their eyes.

………..

Daniel starts teething four days before Christmas. Axel wants to sleep so badly he feels like crying most of the time, and he can see the same despair mirrored on Mick’s face. It’s impossible to settle Daniel down: the best they can do is turn the volume down from screaming to unhappy whimpering, and that requires constant rocking and soft singing. Axel’s throat is sore and scratchy after hours of murmuring stories and all the songs he can remember to the baby, and his back is killing him – his bloodstream is basically pure caffeine at this point, but it just makes him feel manic, not really awake. He’s trying to keep Daniel as quiet as possible, because Mick came back at one in the morning after having driven through four states and back, and Axel knows the man needs his sleep, but shit, so does Axel.

He has no idea what time it is when the door to Daniel’s – and Axel’s – room opens, but the sky is still dark, which means that Mick couldn’t have slept more than four or five hours. Axel can barely find the strength to look up. He’s vaguely aware his voice is still droning on with some song or another on autopilot. His feet got cold at some point but he only realizes it now, looking up at Mick, apparently showered, shaved and in comfy sweatpants. The greatest sign of Axel’s exhaustion is that he doesn’t even find the strength to regret not seeing Mick’ arms because of the long sleeves on his shirt.

“Go get some rest,” Mick murmurs and leans over Axel; he smells like soap, and he picks Daniel up, whispering to the fussy baby and brushing the hair out of the kid’s forehead. “I’ll take care of him. You look like you’re ready to die.”

“I am,” Axel croaks and stands up – he’s a bit wobbly on his feet and Mick’s hand shoots up to wrap around his elbow to steady him for a moment. He aims for the bed in the same room, a simple twin bed they stuck in Daniel’s room when it became apparent that Axel was staying and that he couldn’t keep sleeping downstairs on the couch.

Mick’s hand tugs him away from the bed and steers him towards the door.

“Take my room. You won’t be able to sleep here,” Mick shrugs and Axel’s in no state of mind to protest. Mick’s right – Daniel’s still making high-pitched unhappy noises. Axel’s tired enough that he could just _faint_ into the bed, but he’d be up in an hour, at best, automatically rising at the sound of a distressed baby.

It doesn’t even occur to Axel that this is the first time he’s in Mick’s bed; it smells a little like smoke and a lot like Mick, heated and earthy, woods and spices and soap. Axel buries his face in Mick’s pillow, not even bothering to turn down the blankets: he just pulls whatever he can over his head and torso and exhales, letting go of that perpetual, subconscious need for awareness.

………………….

Axel has migrated into Mick’s bedroom slowly, but steadily. After that first time right before Christmas, he ends up in the other man’s king-sized bed more often than not. It’s Mick who first suggests that the three of them could just camp out in his bed and watch cartoons on his laptop on Christmas Eve – Mick who seems all warm and inviting and a little melancholy. Axel guesses that the holidays get to everyone, in a way; and curling up on Mick’s bed with Daniel between them feels so right that Axel kinda wants to cry and laugh at the same time. Then, the teething pains (and screams) are over, as suddenly as they started. By the time New Year rolls around, Daniel sleeps six or seven hours uninterrupted – he can’t seem to stick to an exact schedule, sometimes falling asleep at eight and sometimes still being up at eleven. Axel comes to love the moments after Daniel drops off for the night and Axel walks downstairs. Mick makes him tea, or brings him beer, and they stretch out on the sofa, talking quietly, the baby monitor on the coffee table and the fireplace crackling with flames. And afterwards, Axel trails after Mick and sleeps right next to the guy he’s lusting after like crazy.

They spend January wiping puree splashes and pudding smudges off every surface, Daniel’s head included. In February, they child-proof the whole house, which takes a lot more time and Googling than either of them was prepared for, but they end up grinning contently at each other when they’re finally done, and they both know it was worth it.

In March, Mick finally tracks down Daniel’s mother and the bureaucratic hell of getting sole custody of Daniel begins. She bursts into tears when she sees her son; Axel can’t help but feel like the kid is not _hers_ anymore, screw genetics and paperwork. Daniel senses they’re all upset and shifts restlessly. He doesn’t reach for his mother. Instead, he turns his face into Axel’s neck and holds on for dear life.

Thankfully, V agrees that her son’s better off with Mick. She gives Axel a once-over, a little bit knowing and only mildly disapproving, and Axel wants to deny whatever she’s thinking about his presence in the house. It’s not that he minds her thinking he’s Mick’s lover or boyfriend or partner, or whatever it is she’s thinking – Axel would be lucky if that were true. He’s more worried that if she points it out or asks, it will bring his own crazed feelings into light for Mick to see… and Mick might not like the idea of Axel having that kind of feelings for him. He’s never seemed homophobic, but there’s a wide expanse of land between ‘not homophobic’ and ‘I don’t mind that my crazy nanny likes to pretend we’re married.’

And yeah. Axel totally does that. He has a whole mental box filled with the ideas for their wedding. Possibly some mental wedding photos as well. He swears he sometimes wakes up and for a split second he can feel a phantom pressure of an imaginary wedding ring around his finger. When they go out grocery shopping, he loves to give people who ogle Mick snobby, patronizing smirks that say ‘this guy’s _mine_ , so wipe the drool off your chin and kindly fuck off.’

It’s not that he believes it’ll ever happen, not really, not anymore. It’s been half a year since he first came to stay in Mick’s house – if Mick had any intention of making a move, he probably would have. Axel’s not totally fine, but he’s made his peace with that. Sure, it’s frustrating sometimes, and he spends a lot of his alone time (which is like twenty minutes each day) with his hand on his dick, biting the inside of his cheek hard so that he doesn’t groan Mick’s name out loud into the tiled wall of the shower. Whenever Axel sees Mick’s naked arms, his whole body honest-to-god _seizes_ with how much he wants Mick to bend him over and just fuck him right into the kitchen counter… but Axel has learned to subdue his lust until he’s alone in the shower and he can do something about it. And ultimately, he wouldn’t want to risk the closeness, the intimacy he feels in the house whenever they eat together or clean together or watch TV and argue about which movie is the worst.

(They usually end up watching SuperNanny anyway – Axel turned on an episode ironically in November, but then they realized they both knew shit about kids and could maybe learn something. They’ve been going through the archives of the show whenever they’re not completely wiped out. Which is not often.)

..............

Mick gets full custody at the end of May – god only knows how many people he’s bribed or threatened. Axel feels like an idiot, because he can’t stop crying and he’s probably getting his snot over Daniel’s onesie. Mick wraps his huge arms around both of them and Axel’s stomach contracts painfully when he thinks about the time when little Daniel won’t need a nanny anymore. How much time does he have? Until Daniel’s in pre-school? Until elementary school; until middle school? No matter what number Axel puts on the time he has with Mick and his son, it seems like too little, too damn _short_ , and Axel grits his teeth and wills himself to stop wondering what could’ve been if Mick liked him like _that_.

…………………..

Len grabs his shoulder and stops Axel before he can walk out into the garden. The beginning of June is unexpectedly perfect, warm but not stifling hot. Mick’s mowed the lawn in the early morning and the smell of cut grass still hangs in the air, around the plastic table and colorful plastic plates. The balloons they hung over the porch sway in the gentle summer breeze.

Axel blinks at Len over the birthday cake. He didn’t bake it, of course – that would be a disaster. It’s small and round and simple, with a picture of Nemo the fish on it, because Daniel has been obsessed with Nemo for the past three weeks.

“Give him time,” Len scowls, and Axel turns his head towards the garden door to follow Len’s gaze. Mick’s holding Daniel up and grinning at his son, and the kid is gurgling happily, trying to slap him in the face (or so it seems).

“Time for what?” Axel asks even as he’s smiling at that scene. Len’s not making any sense – they all ate lunch together an hour ago, which is plenty of time for everyone to digest and make room for the cake. Axel sees no reason to wait, really.

“For you.”

The bottom drops out of Axel’s stomach and he stares at Len, dread creeping up on him. Did Mick talk? Is this Len gently letting Axel know that he’s no longer welcome in this house? Or at least in Mick’s bed? Thoughts swirl in Axel’s mind as he thinks back to last week.

They were planning Daniel’s birthday party, arguing over food or decorations, something Axel can hardly remember now. What he _does_ remember is screaming at Mick who kept growling back, completely unreasonable – and in the heat of the moment, Axel managed to blurt out ‘If I didn’t want to kiss you so much, I’d fucking punch you in the face, Mick, I swear.’

There was awkward silence for a moment, Mick just staring at him blankly – and then he relented, told Axel to get whatever kind of decorations or snacks he wanted… and walked out of the house. Presumably to jog, because when he got back, he was sweaty and quiet and went straight for the shower, then sat down at the edge of his – their – bed and slept with his back turned to Axel all night.

And the next morning, they both pretended nothing happened. Mick moved a little more carefully around Axel, and that was all the confirmation Axel needed that Mick wasn’t interested in anything but friendship.

Axel’s made peace with that two days later, when he was crouching down next to the inflatable pool, cleaning it, and Mick came closer just to push him into the soapy water, cackling like a maniac when Axel cursed and threw the sponge at his head.

They are _fine_. Axel is fine. And there’s no reason for Len to bring it up now, to pick at the barely scabbed-over wound.

He frowns at Len: it’s been some time since he found the guy truly scary. Maybe it’s just because it’s been some times since Len made an actual effort to be scary for his sake.

“You don’t have to give me false hopes, you know. I’m not gonna abandon them just because Mick doesn’t wanna sleep with me.”

Len shakes his head, though. “It’s not that- Mick doesn’t do casual.”

Axel gapes.

“I’ve lived with the guy since October. I’m helping him raise a kid, not picking him up at a bar, for chrissake.”

“No, you don’t get it. Mick really, _really_ doesn’t do casual.”

“And I really, _really_ don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, so if you’ll excuse me… I’ve got a birthday cake to deliver.”

He slips past Len and puts on a huge grin as he carries the cake to the table. Lisa whoops victoriously and doesn’t even protest when Mick deposits Daniel in her arms so he can light the single candle sticking out of the icing.  They sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to the kid and Axel can’t stop watching Mick, who is grinning like crazy and his eyes go all shiny and soft as he looks at his son.

Whatever the hell Len’s saying… Axel won’t let it ruin their peace. Mick is off-limits, and Axel won’t allow himself to screw up again and drive Mick away for good.

…………………

Axel becomes ‘pap’ two weeks after Daniel’s first birthday. Mick is insanely jealous for a couple of days and he tries his best not to show it; Axel can see it in the set of his eyebrows, though, and he makes a point of preparing Mick’s favorite breakfast foods, until Daniel pushes a finger up his nose and declares Mick ‘dada’.

……………………

They’re both there for Daniel’s first steps: the kid took his time, but now he can’t seem to get enough of staggering from Mick to Axel and back again, giggling and teetering on his unsteady little legs.

………………………

In August, Mick takes them all to the beach. It’s a two-hour drive to the nearest nice place that’s both clean and not too crowded. In the end it’s so worth it when Daniel squeals and shrieks with joy all day, refusing his nap in lieu of digging his hands and feet into the sand. Axel ends up with terrible sunburn, but when Mick carefully spreads the lotion over his red, aching back and shoulders, he almost thinks that the pain isn’t so bad.

…………………….

Axel would’ve never thought he’d get to the point in his life when he would have to say the sentence “We’re not dressing your son as The Girl With Matchsticks for Halloween” and be completely serious.

Daniel ends up covered in wisps of yellow, red and orange tulle that Axel stuck to a yellow shirt and red pants. Axel’s fingers are probably permanently glued together, but then Mick comes in, his fireman costume already on, and Axel’s throat goes dry as he completely forgets his fingers. It’s not fair… Mick’s not even a _Sexy_ _Fireman._ He’s just in a regular fireman jacket and in flame-retardant pants and it really shouldn’t look so hot, but it totally does. Mick picks up the little ‘Fire’, who’s giggling and tugging happily at the strips of fabric, and Axel smiles at both of them.

Mick glowers at everyone who comes to their door that night and doesn’t properly appreciate Daniel’s costume. The word must spread that the scary guy dressed as a fireman gives out more candy if you praise his kid, because towards the end, all the kids sing loud odes to Daniel and his daddy, and Mick looks just a little smug as he distributes big handfuls of chocolate bars and caramels.

…………………….

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault, fuck, I’m sorry,” Axel mutters. He can’t really see his hands because his eyes are full of tears, but Mick determinedly holds them under a stream of cold water, so he probably did get burned pretty badly. There’s red in the sink, no doubt from the glass, and Mick is frowning, and Axel hates himself.

“Shut up,” Mick grumbles and refuses to let Axel remove his hands from the water. “Hold steady, will you?!”

“I turned for ten seconds, I swear, I didn’t want- I’m so so sorry, it won’t ever happen again,” he pleads – he’s terrified that Mick will ask him to leave after this. And he would be right: it was Axel’s fault that he wasn’t looking when David padded to the kitchen… the kid could’ve been burned so badly when he pulled on the tablecloth. Axel was able to yank the pot with hot soup away and set it down on the counter – hence the burns – but in the next second the tablecloth along with plates and glasses slid to the ground and when Axel tried to sweep the glass away from Daniel, he must’ve got a few cuts onto his arms. That’s how Mick found him when he ran downstairs: burned and bleeding and a little bit hysterical.

Thirty seconds later, Axel isn’t doing much better.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeats over and over again and Mick snarls again.

“Shut up. C’mere.”

Axel lets Mick push him towards the living room, down into the sofa. Daniel is in the playpen and he looks fine – that calms Axel down a _little_ , but he can’t stop his eyes from tearing up when the pain of the burns seeps into his consciousness.

“Ow,” he mutters. Mick brought the first aid kit with him and crouched in front of Axel: now, he’s picking out tiny shards of glass from Axel’s hands, with tweezers and disinfectant and angry determination. It hurts like a motherfucker.

“Shut up,” Mick grouses the third time and Axel tries, he really tries, but he has to really struggle not to pull his hands away completely. He’s gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw hurts, but whimpers still escape him every couple of seconds until Mick wraps his hands in gauze and sits back on his heels, looking up at Axel.

Axel thought Mick was pissed – he certainly looked it, gruff and curt and scowling hard. But now, Axel stares at the older man, blinking tears out of his eyes and suddenly he sees that Mick… Mick was afraid. His features ease up a little and his eyes lose that narrowed look that feels like he’s trying to set the world on fire with his gaze. He reaches out and his hands settle on Axel’s calves. Mick just stares up at him from the ground, the first-aid kit still opened next to him and Axel’s clumsy, bandaged hands hanging between them over Axel’s knees.

Mick doesn’t say he was scared for Axel’s benefit, not just for Daniel’s – but Axel can see it in the way the man fusses over him for the next couple of days. Axel would really draw the line at being spoon-fed like he’s another one-year-old in the house… but it’s kinda funny, watching Mick’s face when Chinese noodles land on Axel’s shirt or the sofa by accident. If this is how Mick looks while feeding Daniel, then Axel totally gets why the little devil enjoys spreading his food over the kitchen floor all the time.

Mick also has to help him dress, since Axel can’t really bend his fingers or touch anything without hissing in pain. That’s probably the first time Mick notices that Axel has his own tattoos, winding around his left shoulder and down his bicep, over his forearm and circling his wrist. Mick trails the ink with his fingers and only pulls away when Axel shudders under his touch (and almost weeps, because there’s one very specific thing he could do with his hands that Mick won’t help him with).

“Sorry,” Mick mumbles, and resolutely doesn’t look at Axel’s naked skin anymore.

Axel kind of wants to scream. But the painkillers Mick gets him knock him out, so he sleeps for twelve hours instead of staring at the ceiling and wondering what he could do to make Mick want him at least a little bit.

…………………………

For Christmas, Daniel gets _everything._ Axel isn’t even kidding. Last year, they were both kinda tired and getting used to taking care of a baby, so they went shopping and got every childcare book they could find and then got a few more things they needed for Daniel, but that was it.

This year, Mick goes _mad_. It takes them at least two hours to wrap up every toy and picture book Mick got, and Axel has half a mind to ask if the _other_ children in Central have anything left for them, but he doesn’t, because let’s face it, Daniel deserves it all and Mick deserves to spoil his child as much as he wants.

What surprises Axel more is that he finds a hoodie, a book, a CD, and two video games under the tree for himself. He doesn’t even remember mentioning half this stuff to Mick – but somehow, Mick gets everything right, and Axel pulls the hoodie on immediately, sighing at how soft it is. He smiles brightly at Mick and hands him the last unopened package; he didn’t really have much time to go shopping, and now he feels stupid that his present won’t be enough.

But when Mick tears off the paper to reveal a big scrapbook with pictures of Daniel since the first day Axel started taking care of the kid, pictures of him and Daniel making faces at the camera, or selfies from the beach and pictures that have all three of them in the frame… Mick’s eyes go shiny and wide, and Axel feels warm all around.

…………………………………

When Axel learns how to make waffles – probably the only food he can make _well_ – Daniel and Mick go crazy. Axel makes waffle animals and waffle faces for them, with whipped cream and carefully arranged fruit, and feels like he’s found his calling. It’s a lot less grandiose than Harvard law school or experimental physics, the careers he had imagined for himself in high school, when his head was in the clouds and he was too young to anticipate everything going to absolute shit… but standing in this tiny kitchen, watching Mick make up stories about waffle characters to Daniel, who’s giggling and stabbing his plastic fork right through the waffle clown’s eye – Axel wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

………………………..

Axel doesn’t know if pyromania is transferable by association, but considering Daniel’s unhealthy obsession with flames, it’s highly possible. Every winter evening, the fireplace in the living room crackles and dances, painting the shadows gold and warm. Every summer night, they build a fire in the huge portable fire-pit and sit around it, talking and laughing and when the fire dies down and the wind starts blowing, they snuggle under that one huge blanket. Mick always complains about Axel’s ice-cold feet, but he drags Axel’s legs over his lap and wraps him up in the blanket as well as he can, while Daniel keeps staring into the fire pit until the embers go out completely. Or until he falls asleep, whichever comes first.

Fireworks are also a huge hit. Daniel cries like a siren when the 4th of July’s fireworks are over, so Mick ends up buying up every shop’s supply of sparklers and they spend the nights making Daniel’s eyes light up in joy.

The easiest way to get Daniel to eat something is stick a candle in it. It looks a bit ridiculous on broccoli, but hey, if it does the trick, Axel’s not complaining… much.

Axel kind of dreads the day when Daniel learns how to operate matchsticks or a lighter.

But after two years of living with a pyromaniac and his young apprentice, Axel can’t help but associate fire with warmth and safety and _home_ , rather than with danger. Mick’s eyes follow him around with curiosity when Axel comes home one day with a cartoony red flame tattooed around his right wrist, but he doesn’t say anything in the end and Axel’s kinda glad. It feels a bit like he’s forcing his place here, like he’s etching them into his skin when he doesn’t know how long he’ll be needed or wanted… but he can’t imagine his life without either of these two, so even if Mick asks to leave one day, they will stay in Axel’s heart just as permanently as that tattoo will stay on his skin.

…………………….

Daniel’s three when they drive him to pre-school the first time. He doesn’t take the separation well. All his life, Mick or Axel or both have been there for him, so it’s understandable when he cries and screams and demands that ‘pap’ and ‘daddy’ take him home. Nonetheless, it takes what little self-control Axel has to smile at the boy and tell him everything’s gonna be fine.

They don’t speak on the drive home, and Mick takes the wheel without a word, for which Axel is glad. But his old anxieties burst through his weakened defenses and all Axel can think of is that Mick doesn’t need him now. Daniel’s all grown up, a big boy in pre-school, who will be a big boy in school soon and there’s no need for a live-in nanny when your kid’s gone half of the day. Mick might need him on those rare occasions when there’s a heist; but Len’s dating a cop now, so they don’t actually do anything more than once every couple of months. Mick’s mostly at home, free to take care of his kid and _good_ at it, too. His jumbled fairy-tales glued together out of several different stories always make Axel smile when he stands in the doorway to listen – but now, even the memory of those stories makes his heart twist in his chest.

He staggers out of the car and aims for the kitchen: he needs to drink, to wash down the sour taste of what’s yet to come. Rationally he knows that Mick probably won’t _ask_ him to leave, not anytime soon, but Axel’s mind’s in overdrive and he keeps imagining all the subtle hints that will start appearing, nudges for him to get out of Mick’s life in the near future. It makes breathing harder and his heartbeat painful; his hands shake and he drops the can of soda he retrieves from the fridge. It bursts all over the floor, soaking Axel’s canvas shoes with a loud fizzy noise, and he curses, weak and exhausted and breaking.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mick asks and his fingers wrap around Axel’s wrist, pressing into his pulse point, into the angry red of the tattooed flames. Axel can’t look at him, not now, not when he can’t control his heart or mind or mouth.

He shakes his head. Mick tugs him closer and his other hand wraps around Axel’s chin, forcing him to look at the bigger man. When Axel gives up and _does_ look at Mick, defiant and surrendering at the same time, Mick’s thumb brushes over his cheek so tenderly that the gesture brings a vicious sting to Axel’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Mick repeats, eyes searching and confused as they flicker over Axel’s face, trying to look for the clues Axel’s been hiding for almost three years. Three years, and he never really managed to make peace with what he couldn’t have, how stupid is that? Probably not as stupid as willingly living with the man he’s desperately, painfully in love with. Definitely not as stupid as accepting that he’ll never have everything, because what he _does_ have sometimes feels like the whole world.

“Nothing,” Axel tries to lie. His voice breaks around the second syllable and he takes a sharp breath. Mick’s hand slides onto his neck, nestles against the side of it as if it always belonged there. His thumb slips on a teardrop, spreads the dampness over Axel’s skin.

Mick’s voice is barely a murmur. “Then why are you crying?”

“I-“

He chokes on the answers he doesn’t have, on the one that he does. He desperately craves to have a place in Mick’s life, a place that is more permanent than a nanny of his kid, but he still remembers how Mick froze that one time when Axel said that he wanted to kiss him.

Maybe that’s why it’s Axel who freezes this time, when Mick closes the distance between their mouths and lets them meet, slow and wet and a little salty from Axel’s hysterical tears.

Something in his chest uncoils and stretches and Axel lets himself fall into that kiss with all the desperation he has been holding back for three years, three fucking beautiful and painful years, more than a thousand days of bittersweet longing and all for… this.

Axel would do it all over again, every single moment.

Mick lets go of his wrist and of his neck. Strong hands push against the back of Axel’s thighs and Axel lets himself be lifted and propped against the kitchen counter. He wraps his arms around Mick’s neck and his legs around Mick’s waist, pushing into the solid heat that is Mick. He grinds his hips forward: he’s rock-hard, but at this point, it’s more ‘don’t let me go’ than ‘help me get off.’

When he has to stop biting Mick’s lips in order to _breathe_ , he opens his eyes almost reluctantly, terrified that it will all fade away if he lets enough reality creep up on him. But Mick’s there, his expression completely open and his grey eyes blown dark with arousal, and Axel can honestly say he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his whole damn life.

He tightens his arms around Mick’s neck anyway, just to be on the safe side.

“Why did it take you so long?” he whispers, and his voice is shot to hell; making out with the guy he’s been in love with for years will do that to a person.

Mick looks almost sheepish, and he leans forward: for a moment Axel thinks that he’s gonna use kissing as avoidance strategy, and Axel would actually be down for that, at least for a while… but Mick’s forehead presses into Axel’s shoulder and Axel realizes that this is just Mick being bad with talking about feelings. Especially if he has to look people in the eyes while he does it. Axel doesn’t mind: he runs his hand up Mick’s neck to stroke his shaved head and waits.

That’s what Len said, all those years back, isn’t it. Give him time. So Axel does, even when the hard kitchen counter starts digging uncomfortably into his ass.

“Sorry,” Mick mumbles in the end. It’s a good start, though it doesn’t explain anything. Axel turns his head just a little, brushes his lips against Mick’s temple, because he can and he’s drunk on the possibilities.

“’s okay. Just wondering. I thought you didn’t like me.”

Mick’s hand on his hip tightens, and Axel realizes that’s not really true. He always knew Mick liked him. Like a good nanny, like a younger brother, like a really close friend.

“I mean. I thought you didn’t wanna fuck me,” he chuckles quietly, lips about an inch from Mick’s ear, and he swears he can feel the older man’s blush warm up the skin where Axel’s cheekbone is resting.

“I didn’t,” Mick grumbles, but it sounds exasperated rather than angry. Axel drags his palm over the curve of the man’s skull again. “Dunno why. Just takes a while for me. Always has.”

“Do you want me now?” Axel asks, and the question nearly doesn’t want to come out, fearful that Mick will change his mind. But the other man straightens and looks Axel in the eyes, and Axel’s stomach lurches because all of a sudden, he knows he’s looking into the face of the rest of his life; he will probably look into these very same eyes on the day he dies.

It’s a strangely intense thrill, mixed with a lot of fear, but holding onto Mick’s shoulders makes the fear pull back a little.

“I always wanted you,” Mick mutters and leans forward. “Just differently,” he adds before he seals their lips together.

Axel thinks that different’s good. Different is what they do best. And then he doesn’t think anymore, because Mick lifts him from the counter like he weights nothing and carries him upstairs, to the room where they learned to share their lives long before they would share their bodies.


End file.
